


Dona Eis Requiem

by mercy_angel_09



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Friendship, GIVE THEM ETERNAL REST AMIRITE?, Gen, I put Joaquín through the emotional wringer on this one, Light Angst, No. No it's not., but it has a happy ending so yeah, implied poly romance, is anything for Tres Leches easy?, that last one is a bit complicated, title comes from Pie Jesu, uses a lot of Word of God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 03:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercy_angel_09/pseuds/mercy_angel_09
Summary: It's hard to take back words spoken in anger, and even harder when you find yourself unable to apologize to the one wronged.OrJoaquín speaks in the heat of the moment, worries about making amends, and gets a serious wake up call about what's important.





	Dona Eis Requiem

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This really isn't a romance story, though it definitely follows canon in that María and Manolo end up together.
> 
> 2) The love between Joaquín and the Musical Hearts is difficult to pin down - there are so many types of love and while María/Manolo is definitely romantic, Joaquín toes the line between romantic and familial. At this point in my personal little headcanon he's not entire sure if he loves them like family or romantically. María and Manolo are pretty much cool with whatever Joaquín decides, but they're not going to push him.

Joaquín sits next to María’s bed, watching her closely. She’s remained unchanged since Manolo brought her to them on the bridge, with one exception. After an examination the town doctor declares that she’s not dead, but very close to. Despite her stillness there’s a flutter of hope in Joaquín’s breast, along with the twist of guilt.

Guilt as he remembers the look on Manolo’s face.

The sadness, the loss. Joaquín knows his words were sharp and accusing and he was wrong in even saying them. Especially the last exchange.

_It should have been me…_

_Yes. It should have._

Joaquín scrubs his hands over his face. What kind of friend wishes for his best friend’s death? A terrible friend, that’s who. He has no right to call himself Manolo’s friend, not until he can apologize. With the knowledge that María is still alive – though barely – he should go find Manolo and apologize.

He feels a little sick, knowing how Manolo will react. “ _You were upset, hermano, I understand, it’s okay, all is forgiven…”_

For a moment Joaquín knows that he doesn’t deserve Manolo’s forgiveness.

A soft knock pulls Joaquín from his thoughts. The steady prayers from Father Domingo and the nuns stop, and General Posada quietly calls for the person to enter.

Joaquín automatically straightens and Carlos Sánchez enters the room. The retired torero’s eyes land on María’s still form, and every year he’s lived is visible on his face. “My apologies, General, but I requires the services of Father Domingo.”

The general nods. “Of course. Your grandmother?”

It’s like a switch has been flicked, and Carlos looks eighty not forty. “No…” he says softly, “for Manolo.”

Joaquín feels as if the floor has dropped out from under him. His stomach twists and his head spins and he reaches out and steadies himself on the edge of María’s bed. “How…”

“There appears to be a pair of snake bites,” Carlos explains, his eyes flicking to María again.

Stupid, stupid Manolo! Joaquín is sure that the idiot had gone back to kill the snake that had hurt María and had gotten himself killed in the process.

 _And the last thing you said to him was that you wished that he was dead_ , a cruel voice sneers in the back of his mind. _You got your wish. Aren’t you happy?_

No! No he’s not happy at all! He’s floating between rage and despair and all Joaquín wants is for it to end.

Father Domingo and a pair of nuns usher Carlos from the room, murmuring their condolences. The remaining two nuns take back up their prayers for María and suddenly the room is suffocating. Joaquín stumbles towards the balcony and once he looks out he regrets his decision. Manolo is lying on the cobblestones under the balcony, his face pale and still. Several townspeople have gathered around and nearly all of them are praying. The soft voices of Carlos and Father Domingo float up, the kindly priest giving Manolo his last rites.

When Father Domingo finishes, Carlos lifts Manolo’s body and carries it towards their home to prepare it for burial. The scene will be forever burned into his brain, Joaquín thinks, of a father carrying his son’s body. He barely registers Father Domingo and the two nuns returning to María’s room and resuming the prayers. All he can think about is that everything he loves is taken away from him, either because of death or willing abandonment.

In the throes of despair Joaquín walks back over to María’s bedside. He gently traces the line from her temple to her cheek and he sighs. His heart is torn – it would be cruel for him to wish María would awake because then he’d have to tell her Manolo is gone…but he’s not sure his heart can take it if she leaves him as well.

He leans down and presses a kiss to her temple.

She gasps, eyes flying open. Startled, Joaquín stands up and he’s staring down one of his worst fears.

“What happened?” she asks, her eyes darting around her room. “Wait…where’s Manolo…?”

It’s like the air has been sucked out of the room. The general stares down at the floor, Father Domingo and the nuns seem to have lost their voices, leaving Joaquín to tell her what happened. “I’m sorry, María…” He hates the way his voice is cracking. “Manolo…” he pauses to swallow the lump in his throat, “Manolo passed away.”

“No!” she cries. “It can’t be!” Her voice is hoarse and thick with emotion and Joaquín realizes that it was always Manolo. Yes, María loves him in her own way, but her heart belongs to Manolo, her heart has always belonged to Manolo. What a fool he is for believing he ever had a chance.

General Posada begins speaking, trying to convince his daughter that this is for the best, and that she should marry Joaquín. Joaquín, immensely uncomfortable with this development tries to shut the general down but the old man will not be gainsaid.

And so Joaquín finds that he is getting exactly what he wants, and regretting every moment of it.

Everything starts speeding by in a blur, and the first moment Joaquín can get away from the Posada house he races to the arena and manners be damned barges into the Sánchez quarters. Manolo is lying in repose in the parlor, his great-grandmother sitting next to him, working on her ever present knitting.

She glances up and him. “I wondered when I would see you.”

“Where’s…Carlos?”

“Some of the villagers have built a shrine at the tree where Manolo died,” she answers, kitting never pausing.

“I…see.” Joaquín walks over to Manolo’s body and forces himself to look.

He looks so peaceful, as if he was sleeping and dreaming of something pleasant. Manolo’s lips are frozen in a small smile; no doubt he believed he would be reunited with María in the Land of the Remembered. Joaquín’s gut twists again. He hopes he can find a picture of Manolo to put up on the ofrenda. It seems like the least he can do after wishing that his friend were dead.

Reaching down, Joaquín gently strokes Manolo’s cheek and wishes not for the first time that day that he could wake up from this nightmare.

“Don’t you have a wedding to get ready for?” Anita asks with a pointed look and Joaquín feels the stab of guilt all over again.

“Yes, I…yes.” He sighs. “I am so, so sorry, Señora Sánchez.”

She gives him a keen look, but says nothing. With the room closing in on him, Joaquín says a hurried goodbye and runs back to his mansion.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere in the blur of defeating Chakal once and for all and María and Manolo’s wedding, Joaquín gets a moment to sit and catch his breath. His eye aches and while he’s glad that he hasn’t lost it he’ll never be able to see out of it again, not to mention he’s long since forgotten the sensation of pain. This is going to take some getting used to.

Right along with getting used to the fact that his friend is, in fact, back from the dead.

Somehow, thanks to the magic of La Muerte, Candle Maker, and Xibalba, Manolo’s spirit has reunited with his body (it’s no longer lying in repose in the Sánchez parlor, though they found Anita’s body in her chair, the knitting finally still in her cold hands). Manolo’s spirit is in Manolo’s body and La Muerte and Xibalba had merely waved their hands and mentioned that he’d only been dead for a few hours – his body hadn’t really even begun to rot – so it was easy enough to do.

But after the wedding Anita and Carlos would have to be buried. Children bury parents all the time; it’s an accepted fact of life. But Joaquín still remembers the sight from earlier, of Carlos carrying his son’s body home so he could prepare it for burial. Parents burying their children is less common.  Joaquín hopes he never has to see it again.

“Hey! There you are hermano!” Manolo calls. He’s obviously had too much wine or ale, but can’t bring himself to care. His gait is a bit wobbly, his smile light, his brown eyes twinkling with laughter and life.

“Shouldn’t you be sweeping your wife off her feet?” Joaquín asks dryly, a little irritated that his moment of peace has been ruined.

“Nah, she’s arguing with her father about where we’re going to live,” Manolo shrugs as he sits down next to his friend. “And what about you? Not like you to hide away from an adoring crowd.”

Joaquín snorts, but he also knows that Manolo’s comment isn’t wrong. “I just needed time to think. A lot happened to day.” He pauses, his mind flipping through everything that happened like the pages of a book, and sighs. “A lot.”

“Uh, listen, about earlier…”

Tilting his head, Joaquín gives a small nod.

“I know you didn’t mean it.”

Joaquín’s elbow slips off his knee and he would have fallen face first in the dirt had Manolo’s fast reflexes not kicked in and grabbed his shoulder to steady him. “Manolo-“

“You were upset. We were all upset, we didn’t know,” Manolo continues quietly, ignoring Joaquín’s attempt to say something. “Xibalba cheated.”

“Whoa, wait, what?”

So Manolo explains everything that happened after he found himself in the Land of the Remembered. About learning of the wager made when they were children, of trekking to the Cave of Souls so they could get to the Land of the Forgotten and meet Le Muerte, of his fight with every bull ever killed by a Sánchez.

By the end Joaquín’s pretty sure he’s never going to get his jaw up off the ground again.

“I mean,” Manolo says, finally winding down from his story, “in the end everything is okay and I don’t hold those words against you.”

“Manolo,” Joaquín says, voice cracking, “I told you that I wished that you had died instead. Who does that to their best friend? Someone they always considered their brother?”

“I told you, you were upset, we were all upset. Nobody was thinking, we were just reacting,” Manolo answers.

With a sigh, Joaquín shakes his head. “Manny, buddy, we’re going to have to do something about that pure heart thing you’ve got going on.”

Manolo chuckles. “I’m afraid that I’m going to have that for the rest of my, uh, life. When I was nine La Muerte blessed me so that I would always have a pure and courageous heart.”

Joaquín studies Manolo and realizes that his friend is right. He’s always felt dirty when standing next to Manolo, whose goodness has always been effortless. No wonder María prefers him. Oh, he knows that María loves him in a way, but she doesn’t look at him the way she looks at Manolo.

“Man, you get blessed with effortless goodness and I get a medal that makes the owner go crazy. I’m thinking you came out on top of that bet in every way,” Joaquín grumbles.

“Your story isn’t finished,” Manolo insists. “You’re still writing it.”

Joaquín barks out a short laugh, but whatever he’s about to say is cut off when María comes huffing over in an indignant rage.

“I can’t believe him…I’m not a child…I’m married! Augh!”

“Something wrong, mi amor?” Manolo asks so calmly it’s like he and María have always been married. Maybe in some way they always have.

“Father is insisting that we live with him,” she says as she makes a face.

Manolo actually bursts out laughing at that. “Seems to me like he’s intending to drive us apart.” His eyes are twinkling. “I hope our room will have a lock.”

“Manolo!” María squeaks, her cheeks going rosy.

“Don’t fret, I know plenty of places where two people can be alone without worrying about unwelcome intrusions,” Manolo says with a dismissive wave of his hand. Joaquín’s eyes widen, and he wonders if his friend has any idea what he just said.

“Manolo!” María’s indignation has returned tenfold. “I expect such sordid knowledge from Joaquín, not from you!”

Manolo’s laughter begins anew and Joaquín subtly scoots away from his friend because he does not want to be caught in the crossfire. The crack about his love life has gone completely unnoticed.

“Relax, they’re places where I used to practice my guitar,” Manolo says with an easy smile. He rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish look on his face. “Papa was always so upset when I’d play, so I got in the habit of finding places where he wouldn’t find me.”

María is mollified by this and Joaquín breathes a little easier, knowing that his friend will in fact live another day.

“So…” Joaquín says, because it’s suddenly dawned on him that he hasn’t actually given them a wedding present, “if you two get sick of living with the General, you can move into the mansion. Being deployed means I’m not home much and with you two there you might actually give the staff something to do.”

María and Manolo graciously accept the offer, but don’t think they’ll actually need to.

 

* * *

 

After three months of being deployed, Joaquín can finally come back to San Ángel. He’s not eager to return to his cold and sterile mansion, but it’s still home.

Needless to say he is surprised to find his house lit up, warm and inviting, upon his return.

He walks in and finds María and Manolo smiling at him in the foyer. “Uh…” he says because he’s pretty sure his brain has stopped working.

“Papa became insufferable about a month ago,” María says in way of explanation as Manolo loops his arm around Joaquín’s shoulders and escorts him to the parlor. “So we decided to take you up on your offer. We hope it’s still okay.”

“Yeah, of course,” Joaquín says, finding his voice. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”

The Mondragon mansion has been empty and cold since Captain Mondragon died fifteen years ago, left relatively unchanged since Joaquín was 1) too young to be able to access the funds to redecorate when he was a child, and 2) never home long enough between deployments to put the effort into making changes. But now several paintings he hated have been put away and replaced by María’s work. Furniture has either been moved or replaced. Rooms that hadn’t been lit and used in ages were humming with new life.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he says as his gaze takes in the changes.

“I know redecorating wasn’t part of the arrangement,” Manolo says as he pours Joaquín a drink, “but you know María, once she gets an idea into her head you can’t stop her, only try to minimize the damage.”

Joaquín chuckles as María goes off on her husband and he can’t help but feel that this is probably the best homecoming he’s ever had. Sure, there isn’t a crowd of adoring townspeople, but that’s okay. Just the good natured argument between María and Manolo and a fire in the fireplace and the lamps lit is enough. The enticing smells from the kitchen don’t hurt either.

“So, when’s dinner?” Joaquín asks.

María, done giving Manolo a piece of her mind, turns an angelic smile on him. “Soon. I’m making carne asada.”

“Did you learn cooking in Spain, too?”

“I learned many things in Spain,” María says with a mysterious smile and behind her Manolo’s cheeks go bright red.

“Madre de Dios,” Joaquín murmurs because really, what do you even say to that?

“Now, if you’ll pardon me, I need to check on dinner,” María says as she sashays out of the parlor.

Joaquín looks between María and Manolo and it’s clear that Manolo is still every bit as much in love with María as ever, and María is…well, María. He chuckles and shakes his head, before pulling Manolo into what is probably nothing more than town gossip but it’s good to get back into the loop.

Dinner conversation alternates between San Ángel news and Joaquín’s latest deployment. The food is cooked to perfection, and while María credits the housekeeper for the bulk of the work, there’s little doubt that María made it with her boys in mind.

After dinner they retire to the parlor where Manolo and Joaquín engage in a game of chess as María reads to them from the book of poetry in her hands. In his whole life Joaquín can’t remember when his home felt so warm and inviting. All of his father’s love and affection could never quite make up for his mother’s cool aloofness.

When Manolo and Joaquín finish their game María declares that it’s time for bed. Joaquín allows himself to be ushered to bed by his friends, putting up only the most feeble of protests because he’s exhausted and bed sounds wonderful.

At his door both Manolo and María kiss his cheek and smile at him. Joaquín gives them a tired smile before kissing them back. “Best homecoming I’ve had in a long while,” he says.

Manolo grins while María smirks.

“That’s because you’re home, hermano,” Manolo says.

A warm feeling settles in Joaquín’s chest, because it’s true. Wherever María and Manolo are, that will be his home.

“Now get some rest,” María says, shooing him into his bedroom. “We’ll still be here in the morning.”

Joaquín gives them a cheeky salute before closing the door. He listens to Manolo and María talking quietly as they walk to whichever room they’ve claimed as theirs, peace settling over him as he begins pulling off his uniform.

Yes, home. He’s finally come home and he can finally rest.


End file.
